The Forbidden Queen (30 page)

‘I think I will go to Windsor when the weather turns,’ I said.

‘No.’

I glanced up. Surprisingly, I had his entire attention. ‘Why not?’

‘It is not my wish.’

I felt a little spirit of rebellion stir in my belly. If Henry would not be in England, why should I not choose my residence? Perhaps he had not thought about it carefully enough, and if his concern was for my comfort then he must be open to persuasion. ‘The private rooms are more comfortable and less…’ I sought for a word ‘… less formidable at Windsor. Here I feel as if I am living in a monument rather than a home. The drainage is better at Windsor. I like the countryside too.’

I glanced up and tried a final thrust. ‘The chance of disease, I imagine, is far less at Windsor than living here in the middle of London. The child will thrive there.’

‘No.’ He was no longer even listening. ‘Stay here. Or go to the Tower if you wish. But not Windsor.’

‘I dislike the Tower as much as Westminster,’ I persisted. ‘And what if plague threatens London again?’

‘I’ll not be persuaded, Katherine. I expect you to be obedient to my wishes. Your reputation must be beyond reproach in all things,’ Henry replied. ‘I do not expect you to take matters into your own hands and set up a separate court.’

‘That was never my intent.’

Taking in his severe expression, I knew he considered that there was enough notoriety in my family with my mother living apart from my father in her own household, and was instantly filled with shame. Would I never be free of my mother’s notorious amours?

‘My reputation is beyond reproach,’ I retorted. ‘My mother’s morality is not mine.’

‘Of course. I implied no other,’ continued Henry, starkly disapproving. ‘Merely that the mother of the heir must be as pure as the Holy Virgin.’

‘But I don’t see why it would make a difference if I was at Windsor or Westminster.’

Henry stopped, his hand around my wrist, and for a long moment was caught in a tight-lipped silence as his eyes, bright hazel, searched my face.

‘I order it, Katherine. You will not go to Windsor.’

So much for my brief moment of subversion. I slid back into obedience. ‘Very well,’ I agreed stiffly. ‘I won’t if you don’t wish it.’

‘I will make all the arrangements before I go.’ Henry released my arm and we walked on. I could not see the need for the little lick of temper in his eyes, but if that was what he wanted, I would remain in Westminster and shiver through the cold. I would not go to Windsor. I would be as virtuous as the Virgin herself, cosseted and protected, an example to all womankind. Disillusion might keep me close companionship, but now I had
a child to fill my thoughts. A child who I would love as my parents had never loved me.

Henry left me and went to war in a flurry of gilded armour, blazons and caparisoned horses. I received a publically formal bow and a peck on the cheek, impeded somewhat by the feathered war helm he carried, before he mounted. Once I would have been impressed. Now I knew that in his mind would be the superb chivalric impression his leavetaking would make on his subjects.

A pity about Windsor.

But the seed had been sown, and it blossomed more strongly in my mind every day. I began to think of the bright rooms, the large fireplaces, the warm water brought by a spigot so that bathing in a tiled chamber constructed for the purpose became a pleasure.

Why should I not? Henry could not have considered. His mind had been taken up with the French war—he must have been distracted when he had forbidden me, and would surely not object if I ran counter to his orders. He might even forget that he had actually objected. I might like to decide for myself…

A week of constant rain made up my mind. Westminster became a cold grey domain of draughts and streaming walls and icy floors. My growing bulk barely showed under the layers of furs and mantles that Alice heaped on me. Fur-lined slippers did not stop the rising cold as we huddled next to the fires. No one was tempted outside:
exercise was taken in the Great Hall, our breath rising in clouds of vapour. And then there was the day when there was ice skimming the water in my ewer. Enough was enough. I could easily travel—it was still two months before the expected birth of my child and I could take to the seclusion of my suite of rooms in Windsor quite as well as in Westminster.

‘We will go to Windsor,’ I announced to Beatrice, suddenly much more cheerful.

‘Yes, my lady.’ And she departed with alacrity to supervise the packing.

‘Will we?’ Alice asked, surprised at this change of plan but willing to see its merits.

‘No, my lady.’ Mistress Waring was adamant, her frown formidable.

Mistress Johanna Waring. If Henry had thought he had made every preparation for my
accouchement
, he had been wrong, for this self-important individual had arrived in my expanding household the day after Henry’s departure, with much baggage heaped in two large wagons, and a shortage of breath due to her advanced age and considerable girth. Mistress Waring—I would never have dared address her as Johanna—nurse to the infant Henry and his brothers, and one time tirewoman to Lady Mary Bohun, Henry’s mother.

‘A great lady,’ she had informed me, sighing gustily, ousting Alice from her favourite seat and lowering her weight onto it on that day of her arrival. ‘Dead too young.
And Lord Henry not yet eight years old.’ She fixed her eye, which brooked no dissent, on me. ‘I expect that you will be a great lady one day.’

And Mistress Waring had brought with her a package.

‘Can’t have the heir born without this, now, can we?’ She pulled at the ties and cloth with surprisingly nimble fingers for a lady of her bulk and years. ‘It was Lord Henry’s, of course. He was such a lovely boy. I always knew he would be a great king. See? When he was old enough to pull himself up?’

There were faint teeth marks in one of the little birds’ heads.

I touched it with my fingertip so that the little wooden box rocked gently on its two falcon-headed supports. I could not imagine Henry so small, so helpless that he would fit into this crib. It swung smoothly against my hand, as my baby would be swung to sleep here. I could not recall if I had had a cradle. Neither did I recall a nurse who had held me in such affection as Mistress Waring had held Henry. And as I was now Henry’s wife, Mistress Waring took me in her briskly solicitous hand and laid down the law.

‘She’s nought but an old besom,’ Beatrice sneered down her narrow nose. ‘She has instructed me to ensure that all windows are kept tightly closed in your chamber, my lady, to allow no foul air to permeate.’

‘Is that not a good thing?’ I asked, quick to pour oil on potentially troubled waters.

‘I don’t see why
I
should do it. It is the work of a servant.’

‘But she is favoured by the King,’ I replied.

That was enough to restore peace to my dovecote. I was, to my pride, gradually learning to manage my disparate household. Beatrice might have little respect for my opinions, but Henry’s word was law. The windows were kept tightly shut. But as for Windsor, now that I had decided, I would not be put off. Not even by Henry’s officious nurse.

‘Why ever should I not go?’ I asked.

‘Lord Henry will not like it,’ Mistress Waring stated.

‘Lord Henry is not here with frozen feet,’ I replied sharply, rubbing my toes through my fur slippers. I had chilblains.

‘I can heal your chilblains with pennyroyal, my lady,’ Mistress Waring admonished.

‘Then you can heal them in Windsor.’

I left the room, but Mistress Waring followed me to my bedchamber where I directed Beatrice and Meg to select the clothes I would need. Henry’s nurse stood at my shoulder, where she could lecture me without being overheard.

‘What is it, Mistress Waring?’ I asked wearily.

‘My lady, it must not be.’

‘Mistress Waring—my child will thrive at Windsor because I will be more content.’ She folded her lips. I eyed her. ‘What? I can always come back to Westminster when Henry returns from France, if that’s your concern.’ It had
crossed my mind. Indeed, he need never know I had defied him. I really could not see the importance of where I bore this child.

But when Mistress Waring made the sign of the evil eye, I looked aghast, a chill brushing my skin that had nothing to do with the draught whistling round the open door or the grey mist, like an unpleasant miasma, that had blanketed the Thames.

‘It’s the old prophecy, my lady,’ she whispered.

‘A prophecy?’ I whispered back.

‘Made when Lord Henry was born. Come with me.’ I followed, out of my chamber and into my private chapel. ‘I’ll tell you here, because it does not do to speak of some things except in the sight of God.’ She lowered herself awkwardly to her knees before the altar, and I did likewise.

‘Lord Henry was a delicate child—there were fears for his life. An old wisewoman gave a prophecy to his mother, the Lady Mary, to reassure her that the child would not die.’

Mistress Waring made the sign of the cross on her ample bosom.

‘But this has nothing to do with me,’ I replied, puzzled.

‘It might have to do with your child.’

‘And this wisewoman’s sayings will stop me going to Windsor? I think this is nonsense,’ I remarked.

‘It made the Lady Mary weep,’ she asserted.

I would have none of this. I stood and walked from the
chapel, back to my chamber where the packing went on apace. By the window, a little ruffled by the strange incident, I let my hand fall to stroke the head of the nearest little falcon on the supports of the cradle. They must have looked over the child that Henry had been, I thought fancifully, keeping watch. Who was keeping watch over him now?

My thoughts winged their way, imagining him in full armour, his battle helm in place, facing my brother’s army. Who would keep him safe? Some wisewoman’s mutterings would have no influence over him, of that I was certain. I offered up a silent prayer, my hand spread wide on my belly.

Holy Mother, keep him safe. Bring him home to me and this child
.

Then smiled, a little sadly. His own confidence and his talent in the battlefield would keep him safe. But there was Mistress Waring, her large bulk again looming at my side.

‘The prophecy,’ she hissed.

So I would humour her. ‘What exactly did the prophecy say?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know. But the Lady Mary said that Windsor was not the place for the heir to be born.’

‘I cannot believe that my child will suffer for being born in one place or another. I’m sure the Lady Mary had more sense than to give credence to it. If you are so anxious we will say a rosary to the Virgin to ask for her
protection.’ I was beyond being dissuaded. I would not be swayed by anything less than good sense.

Mistress Waring drew in a breath. ‘Queen Dowager Joanna knows the truth.’

‘I have never met her.’ Queen Dowager Joanna, Henry’s reclusive stepmother. I recalled her absence at my coronation, and our paths had not crossed since, for which I was probably remiss. I had meant to ask him, and had forgotten.

‘Nor would you,’ Mistress Waring advised bleakly. ‘She is a prisoner.’

‘A
prisoner
?’ I thought I had misunderstood the word.

‘She is kept in confinement.’

It made no sense to me. ‘Does Henry know?’

‘Of course. It is by his order. She is accused of witchcraft. Against the King himself.’

I could think of nothing to say. Henry had led me to believe that it had been her choice to live a secluded life, not that she had been incarcerated for so terrible a crime. And I could prise no more information from Mistress Waring other than a reiteration that Madam Joanna would know all about the prophecy. And that I must on no account go to Windsor.

‘You must ask the Duke of Bedford for permission, my lady.’ Lord John was still in England, thus a final throw of Mistress Waring’s dice. ‘I wager he will not give it.’

Alice approached to enquire if she should organise the transport of the cradle that still sat, rocking gently, under my hand. Lord John was out of London, visiting
the north. Madam Joanna’s predicament was something I must consider at more leisure. As for Windsor as my destination—why should I not make my own decision?

‘Pack it,’ I said.

I was packed up and gone to Windsor long before Lord John returned.

What more could I write? Nothing I did here at Windsor could possibly interest Henry. Windsor was everything I had remembered and anticipated from my brief visit on my first arriving in England, a place of seductive comfort and royal extravagance, nicely balanced. Painted and tapestried, the rooms that looked out over the River Thames closed around me like a blessing.

Four were put aside for my own use, apart from my bedchamber. One was hung entirely with mirrors, a room that I avoided as my girth grew and I became more clumsy, so I commandeered the Rose Chamber, glorious with paint and gilding, instead. One chamber was for dancing, constructed by Edward III for his wife, Philippa. There was no dancing for my little household, but perhaps at Christmas there would be celebrations. Perhaps Henry would be there to see his firstborn child.

Fat and indolent, I withdrew and settled into Windsor
like a bird into her nest, in a world from which all men were barred as my time drew closer. My chilblains responded to the pennyroyal ointment. Alice and Mistress Waring clucked around me. Even my damsels regarded me with smiles of approval and a willingness to entertain me with music and song as the arrival of the heir approached. It amused me that everyone presumed the child would be a son. I hoped so, I prayed so, for a son would assuredly win me Henry’s approval.

Occasionally my thoughts turned to Madam Joanna, shut away from the world much as I was, but for necromancy. Necromancy! The use of the Dark Arts. What had she done? And why had Henry remained so determinedly silent about it? When my child was born, I decided, I would make it in my way to visit this intriguing Queen Dowager.